By Alison Cook |
June 10, 2014
| Updated: January 8, 2015 11:29am

A four-star review given by Houston Chronicle food critic Alison Cook is a rarity in and of itself. Once you realize her latest top-rated restaurant is a casual barbecue joint out in Pearland, then you really know something special is cooking out in the 'burbs.

Killen's Barbecue, located at 3613 E. Broadway in Pearland, wowed Houston Chronicle food critic Alison Cook. From the mellow smoke flavors of the main dishes (which don't necessarily need sauce, mind you) to the surprisingly "graceful" desserts, find out why this barbecue joint can hold its own on a national level.

Keep clicking to see the delicious eats being served up at Killen's Barbecue.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

The six-meat plate is served on butcher paper at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

Brisket at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

Brisket at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

The 6-meat plate on butcher paper at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

The dining room at Killen's Barbecue fills up fast.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

Detail of a paper bag at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

Patrick Feges cuts meat at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Karen Warren/Staff

A slice of pie at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Dave Rossman/Freelance

The front door sign at Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Greg Morago

Assorted meats and sides from Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Greg Morago

An assortment of barbecued meats from Killen's Barbecue in Pearland.

Photo By Dave Rossman/Freelance

Ronnie Killen uses a variety of woods to fuel the various pits at his barbecue restaurant.

Photo By Dave Rossman/Freelance

The building that will house Killen's Barbecue was a school cafeteria across the street from his old high school, Killen said.

Photo By Dave Rossman/Freelance

Ronie Killen stands by the indoor pit at his barbecue spot in Pearland.

(No stars) restaurant cannot be recommended at this time. One star a good restaurant that we recommend. Two stars very good; one of the best restaurants of its kind. Three stars excellent; one of the best restaurants in the city. Four stars superlative; can hold its own on a national stage.

On a recent Sunday morning, with temperatures on the coastal plain creeping toward 90, the big, back parking lot of Killen's Barbecue in Pearland was full to bursting. The next-door Trinity Church may not have been racking up strong box-office numbers that day, but congregants had been lining up outside Killen's since well before the doors swung open at 11 a.m.

By noon, the queue snaked around the front porch and toward the side of the neat stucco building, newly painted in a rich yellow cream with trim in dark red and dark green. The 2014 version of a Texas tent meeting was getting started at one end of the lawn, under a covered pavilion set up with picnic tables, water coolers and a giant industrial fan that churned the breeze coming up from the Gulf.

Willie Nelson and Marty Robbins yodeled old-school country over the outdoor public-address system, and right after the clock struck noon, staffers in Killen's T-shirts circulated through the queue of communicants, passing out free beer and neatly hacked meat samples.

Strangers of many ages and backgrounds swapped barbecue intelligence, admired each others' footwear or tattoos, consulted music-recognition apps on their smartphones. ("Who sang 'Battle of New Orleans,' anyway?") They advised each other on what to order and generally engaged in the not entirely secular Fellowship of the Barbecue Line.

Lining up for barbecue is a relatively new Texas ritual that arose with a resurgence of interest in the barbecue arts. Queueing for hours happened most famously (and does to this day) at Franklin BBQ in Austin, where Aaron Franklin has set the bar high for the latest generation of barbecue artisans.

But barbecue lines form everywhere, from Pecan Lodge in Dallas to CorkScrew and Gatlin's in Houston, not to mention at the barbecue festivals organized to celebrate our smoked-meat renaissance. Killen's Barbecue has been pulling queues since the day chef Ronnie Killen - who runs one of the best steakhouses in Texas (if not the nation) right up the Pearland turnpike - started staging barbecue pop-ups out of the onetime school cafeteria he was renovating to house his barbecue restaurant.

Now that the frenzy of his grand opening is past, the waits have settled down to a manageable level. Come at 12:30 or 1 p.m. on a weekday, and you may be able to walk right in the door, taking a place behind just five or 10 people. It's on weekends, and right before the doors open, that the lines get intense.

Fellowship notwithstanding, the peril of long lines is that they invite a cost-benefit analysis. "I heard about this place at the barber shop," worried the woman next to me on my second pass through Killen's line. "I hope it's as good as they say it is."

"Oh, it is," I replied without further embroidery. I figured she was about to have the Killen's epiphanies for herself and that she'd be back many times, wait or no wait.

While I've been impressed with the quality of the food from top to bottom, from side dishes even unto dessert, I've had singular barbecue moments here that will inform my standards for the rest of my life.

That first bite of Killen's brisket, for instance, with its sticky-rough bark an eventful rubble of pepper and salt; its mellow smoke tones of pecan and post oak; its interior texture as pebbly and moist as if it had been cut from the fatty end rather than the lean. Lean brisket I loved! Nay, venerated. I could hardly believe it. I'm used to ordering fatty brisket out of self-protection, but at Killen's I've learned I can wallow happily and messily in the whole brisket spectrum. The fatty-end meat is gratifyingly slippy and slidy, its mesh and cap of fat expertly rendered to melting point by a precise smoking job. The all-important surface bark is preserved by wrapping each brisket for holding purposes in parchment that breathes, rather than in aluminum foil that sweats. It's a host of such small details that lifts Killen's barbecued meats to a high plane and keeps them there.

The subterranean pop of mustard seeds gives the fat little house-made links their personality, along with an expressive bloom of aromatic black and red pepper. Stab one with the tine of a plastic fork and juices spurt out in gush. Slice the link open through its snappy case and the rough-cut pork and beef tumbles forth in all its loose-packed glory. This is about as far from homogenized commercial sausage links as you can get. The jalapeño sausage is very fine, too, but it's the basic version that strikes me as a benchmark.

So does the mighty beef rib, sold by the $18 pound - the highest priced meat on the menu - and worth every cent. Glossed with meticulously rendered fat, the big shreds of rib ease apart at a touch, unthinkably rich, compellingly smoky and expansively beefy-tasting. When Killen describes this cut as "the foie gras of brisket on a stick," he's not exaggerating by much.

Like all the smoked meats here, the beef ribs get no seasonings besides salt and several layers of black pepper, from finely ground to cracked, either coarsely or sundered to the size of micro gravel. The intricate results owe everything to product quality and technique, nothing to overwrought bastes or mops or glazes.

These meats stand on their own, without adornment. But it would be a shame to miss the three sauces arrayed in squeeze bottles on every table. They are complex potions worthy of a chef of Killen's caliber. Most striking is the dark umber "coffee sauce," with a tannic depth that suits the brisket and beef ribs particularly well. There's a mustardy, tart-sweet sauce the color of dusty ochre (the folks manning the serving line call it "tangy sauce"), and it reminds me of a slightly sweeter version of the original sauce from Luling City Market. Then, for those who prefer a sweeter contrast with their smoked meats, there's a dark reddish sauce that strikes deep notes of brown sugar and tomato.

As good as these sauces are, you won't need a lot to construct a perfect barbecue bite here. Rip off a hunk of thick, spongy white bread; apply a dot of sauce and a bit of raw onion; add meat. Repeat until sated.

That may take awhile, since the various meats are so well differentiated in their smokiness here. Killen mixes up his woods to fine effect, alternating green and dry along with tree types. Brisket and beef ribs get a mix of pecan and more neutral post oak, along with some hickory for topspin. Pork and chicken get some mesquite in the mix.

To apply the various smokes, Killen has installed a trifecta of barbecue equipment. In a screened rear room hulks an imposing Oyler smoker, a premier choice in that it's completely wood-fired, with no reliance on gas even for start-up purposes. Briskets and beef ribs go in that. Out back stands a big black barrel-shaped offset smoker that's particularly suited for smoking pork ribs. And in full view of the serving line looms a custom brick pit with reverse-flow construction, so that smoke is forced to switch directions at one end, dropping many of its sooty solids. Killen says he thinks that the reverse-flow technique results in a cleaner smoke taste. And it's true that the smoke flavors of his 'cue are well modulated and pure rather than wild and crazy.

So is the precise slicing of the meats, which takes place before your eyes as you move through the line. Killen is often at the first station slicing brisket during the first hour of operation. "People like to see me," he explains, and in an age where pitmasters have become Texas rock stars, that makes sense. He's so much on the scene, looking like a worried mother hawk, that it's clear this restaurant is his prized baby.

Killen is a man obsessed. The years of playing with smoked effects at his steakhouse a few miles down the road; the long months of experimentation during the barbecue pop-up phase of the business; the daily grind of hopping between the two restaurants all culminate in an experience that ranks as among the very best in the state. Killen's is Houston's first destination barbecue, worthy of a long drive for Texans who are serious about the genre.

That shows even in such nonregulation items as the pulled pork with its clear, gentle smoke taste and its juices intact, served piled on a sandwich to great effect. (Ask for the sweet Asian-style slaw topping to be served on the side, where it won't compromise the savory joys of the meat.) It's on display, too, in the unusual bone-in pork belly, a cut which at present outshines the regular pork ribs, which have been too lean and resilient for my taste.

Killen says he's not happy with the pork ribs he's gotten lately; the quality has suffered in the wake of a virus that swept through the country's pig stock last year. He's switching to some newly sourced Duroc pork ribs this week, which may lift the ribs to the level of his links and brisket.

The point is that Killen isn't done yet. Even the details of his side dishes and desserts are well-honed, distinctive. Instead of the institutional potato salad common to too many barbecue joints, his has the crumbly texture of real potato, sharpened with mustard and pickle and pimento and black pepper. Freshly simmered pinto beans acquire a charismatic gravy flavored with smoke and pork bits both lean and fat, so that they hold interest to the final bite.

The naturally sweet creamed corn and the deliriously sticky mac-and-cheese are more rustic versions of the sides made famous at the chef's nearby steakhouse. The vinaigrette-dressed slaw surprises with its touch of sesame oil and squiggles of ramen noodles amid the cabbage and carrot. Even the baked beans, frequently a canned, sugary horror, acquire a more complex nature with the addition of mustard and plenty of smoked pork. I surprised myself one day by eating every last bean on my plate.

Dessert is usually last on my list of barbecue considerations. Not here. The warm, light fluff of brioche-style bread pudding is magnificent. So is a graceful buttermilk pie that retains its vital buttermilk tang, lifted and expanded with lemon zest. Peach cobbler comes in a biscuity shortcake form so glazed and caramelized on the bottom that it puts me in mind of Tarte Tatin. Better yet, the peaches have a hint of tartness beneath the sweet.

For all these reasons - large to small, savory to sweet, old to new - I believe Killen's Barbecue deserves this newspaper's highest rating of four stars. Yes, it's a barbecue joint. But in its spacious calm, its well-ordered service and its glorious food, this enterprise easily holds its own on a broader national stage. It's one of the best of its breed anywhere.